Chapter 52: Death Shade Essence

Chapter 52: Death Shade EssenceGasps filled the great hall like wind through shattered glass. One moment the banquet had been alive with music, noble laughter, and the gentle clatter of silverware against plates, and the next, it was a scene of chaos.

Prince Darius slumped over the table, pale and shaking, his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table as if trying to keep himself tethered to consciousness. His guards had rushed forward the moment the first goblet spilled. Now, more soldiers arrived in haste, surrounding the prince in a protective circle as if their presence alone could stop the venom spreading through his blood.

"The prince has been poisoned!" someone screamed from the far end of the table.

There was an eruption of noise after that, chairs scraping, servants crying out, nobles backing away in terror or confusion. The music died mid-note. Panic rose amongst the people.

"Call the Royal Physician! Get him now!" one of the guards repeated Princess Nyx’s orders.

Princess Nyx was already kneeling beside her brother, her face stricken, one arm around his shoulder. Her elegant silver gown pooled on the floor beneath her, forgotten. "Darius, look at me!" she said, but his eyes were dazed, rolling slightly back.

The king stormed into the scene not moments later, having heard the commotion from his elevated seat. His robe trailed behind him as he pushed past guards and nobles alike. "What in the name of the heavens is going on!?"

His gaze fell on his son, pale, trembling, lips turning bluish, and his voice dropped into a raw, trembling bark. "Physicians! Where are the damned physicians!?"

The Queen, regal and normally composed, lost all semblance of grace. She shoved her way to her son’s side, her hand trembling violently as she reached for his face. "My son! Darius! Stay with us!"

The palace’s physicians finally burst through the doors in a flurry of robes and medical kits. They fell on the prince like bees on honey, testing pulses, checking his breath, forcing vials of antidotes into his mouth, burning incense under his nose, casting diagnostic spells. Nothing worked. Darius flailed briefly, his body convulsing once. Then he went limp again, a hollow groan escaping his lips.

The Queen screamed. A wail that pierced the ears of every noble in attendance.



"DO SOMETHING!" the King roared, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He turned on the physicians with fury. "If he dies, so help me...you all die with him!"

But even the most senior physician was pale. He shook his head as he tried another mixture, muttering, "This poison... it’s foreign. Deeply refined... layered. Something unknown... something we haven’t encountered in the court before."

Lucas remained seated.

Not a twitch. Not a word. His posture didn’t shift in the slightest. While others panicked and wept, while servants fainted and nobles stared in horror, Lucas simply watched. Calmly and quietly...

He didn’t lift his eyes from the scene in front of him. He didn’t make a sound. There was no pity in him for Darius. Not a shred. If anything, there was only a chill in his stare, distant, cold, and calculating.

To Lucas, the prince’s suffering was well-earned. This was the same boy who’d mocked Lira’s dignity, who treated people like tools, who delighted in humiliation. The same prince whose arrogance and cruelty made enemies even within his own walls.

No...Lucas wouldn’t shed a tear....Not for Darius.

But even with his apathy toward the prince, something pulled faintly at him, a faint stirring of discomfort. Not for Darius... but for those around him.

He watched as the Queen held her son’s face, sobbing like a woman who had already lost him. He watched the King’s wrath twist into something more terrifying: fear.

And he watched Princess Nyx kneeling on the marble floor, her lips pressed tightly together, her pride held in place only by sheer will, her hand still resting on her brother’s chest, trembling slightly.

That was the tragedy. Not Darius himself, but what his fall would do to those around him.

Lucas took a slow breath and leaned back in his seat, glancing briefly at Lira, who stood beside him, frozen. Her wide eyes darted between the chaos and her master, unsure whether to panic or remain composed.

Few moments later....Lucas stood up abruptly. His eyes locked on the scene ahead, Prince Darius still trembling, the physicians scrambling, the king cursing in desperation, and the queen all but collapsing into sobs.

Then, loud and sharp, Lucas’s voice cut through the banquet hall. "Step aside."

Heads turned.

Several nobles who had been whispering in huddled corners froze in their murmurs. The royal guards tensed, turning toward the boy who dared raise his voice in a moment so dire.

The lead physician turned, his brow furrowed. "What?"

"I said step aside. Let me tend to the prince."

There was a pause.

Then a burst of scoffing laughter from one of the minor nobles nearby. Another shook his head. A few muttered under their breath, "Who does he think he is?" "He’s lost his mind." "Is this some kind of joke?"

The physicians exchanged glances, then one spoke. "This is no place for baseless arrogance, boy. Step away before you embarrass yourself."

Lucas didn’t budge.

His voice came again, sharper this time. "I said, if you want him to live, get out of my way."

The Queen barely even glanced his way. The King’s eyes darted toward him once, filled with rage and disbelief, before shifting back to the physicians, barking for them to "do something!"

Then someone pulled at Lucas’s arm.

It was Selene.

Her expression was pale with panic, but her voice came in a sharp whisper. "Lucas, don’t. This isn’t the time to draw attention. You’ll make a fool of yourself, and if Prince Darius dies in your hands, you’ll be blamed. They’ll execute you!"

Lucas looked at her, but there was no fear in his gaze. Only a simmering, unshakable confidence. "Move," he said to her gently, and shrugged her hand off.

She took a hesitant step back, stunned by how serious he sounded.

Lucas raised his voice once again. "I’m not asking. I’m telling you. I have a way. You don’t, and your time is running out."

He pointed toward the prince’s body, now barely clinging to movement. "Another two minutes of you poking him with needles and he’s dead."

The hall fell into a hushed stillness. Even the nobles who had been sneering earlier began to feel the gravity of his words. Still, they didn’t believe him.

They didn’t have to but Lucas didn’t care. But across the hall, a voice rose. Quiet, but clear. "Let him try."

Every head turned toward the source of the voice, it was Princess Nyx.

She stood tall now, her face held no trace of jest. No smirk. Just a calm, resolute expression.

The physicians froze. "Your Highness..." one of them stammered.

"I said let him try," she repeated firmly. "Step back."

"Princess, if something happens..."

She cut him off with a single look.



"I will take full responsibility."

A gasp rippled through the room. Even the King looked toward her now, startled.

"Nyx....what are you doing?" the Queen asked, voice strained and desperate.

But the princess didn’t look away. She was staring directly at Lucas now, her arms crossed, her chin high.

She didn’t know why she was doing it. It wasn’t logic. It wasn’t reason. Maybe it was desperation, maybe something deeper. But something in the look on Lucas’s face told her he wasn’t bluffing.

And right now, with her brother at death’s door, any sliver of hope was worth chasing.

Slowly, reluctantly, the physicians stepped aside. One by one. Some hissed under their breath, muttering about being made fools of. Some glared at Lucas with contempt. But they obeyed.

The path to the prince was open.

Lucas said nothing. He moved forward, his eyes never leaving Darius. His heart beat steady, not with fear, but focus. He didn’t care about impressing anyone. He wasn’t doing this for respect.

He was doing it to save the king’s heir and that he wasn’t to be underestimated.

And if Darius survived tonight... it would be because he allowed it.

Lucas didn’t waste a second. He dropped to his knees beside the trembling figure of Prince Darius, sweat already beading on the royal’s forehead despite the growing chill in his limbs.

He glanced at the opened vials and bottles laid out by the physicians, hands moving with practiced calm. After only a few seconds of checking their labels, sniffing their contents, and observing the reactions they had on Darius’s struggling form, he shook his head grimly.

"These won’t work," he said plainly.

The physicians scoffed, quietly now. The murmurs of the noble audience resumed, laced with disbelief and skepticism.

"They’ll only delay the inevitable. They’ll slow the poison’s spread, but not stop it. You’re treating symptoms, not the source."

Then he raised his head, searching through the crowd. "Lira."

From a distance, she stepped forward. Her face was pale but calm, waiting for his command.

"I need Red Quellroot, Silver Ash bark, and the sap of a Verdant Lotus...ripe, not dried. Find two Starshade mushrooms, powdered if possible. And three vials of Bluefire resin, freshly distilled."

She blinked. Her mind quickly raced to memorize everything.

"Got it."

"Take the eastern route. You’ll find a healer’s market there. Tell them the ingredients are for his Highness. Show them the crest." Elder Alden said.

Then Lucas turned to the king. "She’ll need help. This is urgent."

The King growled a command: "Three royal guards. Follow her. Now."

The guards obeyed without question, falling in beside Lira as she disappeared from the banquet hall in a blur of maroon skirts and determined steps.

Now, silence...Lucas turned back to Darius.

"I know what poison this is."

Someone in the crowd sucked in a breath. A man in noble robes sneered. "And we’re supposed to believe that?"

Lucas ignored him, his voice level but firm.

"It’s called Death Shade Essence. Rare. Nearly mythical. Harvested from the withered bloom of a shadow lily that only grows once every decade. This isn’t your average assassin’s tool."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. A few nobles exchanged horrified glances. Even one of the court physicians paled visibly.

"There’s no antidote to that," someone muttered aloud.

Lucas didn’t deny it. "There’s no direct cure," he said, "but there’s a way to drain it out before it kills him."

And he got to work.

He gently lifted Darius’s head. The prince was almost motionless now, breathing in staggered, shallow pulls. His skin had taken on a bluish hue, and his lips were beginning to darken.

Lucas slipped his fingers down Darius’s throat.

The crowd groaned in disgust. Even some of the nobles turned away.

But then, Darius lurched, and his body convulsed. He vomited violently, all over the floor, the remnants of wine and delicacies mixing with thick, blackish-green bile. The stench was sharp, acidic.

Lucas ignored the mess. He let the prince slump back slightly and immediately grabbed two of the lesser antidotes from the physicians’ tray. Not perfect, but they would stabilize the body enough to buy some time.

He uncorked the vials, poured both mixtures directly into Darius’s mouth, and tilted his head back gently, helping him swallow.



Then, he straightened and looked around. "A blade."

Princess Nyx moved quickly and without hesitation, reached to the feast table, picked up a silver table knife, and tossed it to him.

Lucas caught it smoothly.

"A bottle of strong wine."

One of the nearby stewards obeyed, handing it to him with a shaking hand. Lucas poured the wine over the blade, sterilizing it, then brought it to Darius’s arm.

"What’s he doing?" someone asked in a hush.

Lucas didn’t answer.

Instead, he made small, precise incisions at key meridian points, first the arm, then the leg, then one just under the collarbone. The cuts were shallow, but blood immediately began to ooze out.

Not red blood, blackened and tainted...Poisoned.

He wiped the blade clean and made another cut. Another stream of the darkened blood flowed. Darius moaned softly now, half-conscious, but still alive. The physicians stood frozen nearby, unable to deny what they were seeing.

Lucas worked quickly but with care. Every movement was sure, every cut deliberate. The nobles had stopped talking. Even the ones who doubted him were watching now with quiet awe.

Lucas crouched low beside the prince, sweat trickling down his own brow from the effort, his clothes stained by Darius’s blood, his hands unwavering.